


Is It Really A Mistake?

by AislinMarue



Series: Destiel & Cockles - Correcting The French Mistake [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: 6x15 The French Mistake, Alternate Universe - The French Mistake, Angst, Cockles, Coda, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislinMarue/pseuds/AislinMarue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam Winchester find themselves in a world where the supernatural does not exist. Everyone calls them Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki respectively. Their efforts to protect the key that Balthazar gave them from Virgil, one of Raphael's angels, should be Dean's focus. Yet the elder Winchester finds himself distracted by the actor that plays Castiel, Misha Collins. Who also turns out to be the husband of Jensen Ackles.</p>
<p>This story is based on the gifset floating around tumblr of an AU from The French Mistake where Dean and Sam go to Jensen's house instead of Jared's and encounter Misha, Jensen's husband, who comes home bringing flowers for Jensen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is It Really A Mistake?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this fic since last June. I loved the gifset I got the idea from so much when I first saw it that I knew I had to write this at some point. There is action and dialogue from the actual episode "The French Mistake" but I've incorporated the action and dialogue from the gifset also as well as turned this into a fix it sort of story. It's been a lot of fun to write and I very much hope you guys enjoy reading it. Thank you! <3

The whole situation was beyond fucked up. Everything was fake and no one was who they were supposed to be. The headache raging at his temples sure as hell wasn’t fake though.

He was apparently an actor named Jensen Ackles in this world? An actor? Seriously? Dean still couldn’t get over that. At least his trailer had been pretty cool. There was that. But the acting bullshit he’d had to put up with was insane. He didn’t even want to get started on the makeup they’d made him wear despite his protests. 

The directors and producers weren’t pleased with their performance today apparently, but he could care less. The sooner he and Sam got to go back to their own world, the better. The whole place was nuts and he wanted nothing more to do with it. Balthazar was going to get his ass kicked if he was still alive when they got back.

Thankfully, they were done “acting” for the day and were allowed to go home. He and “Jared” at least. So some dude named Clif, who seemed pretty cool to Dean, drove them from the set. They pulled up at Jensen’s house first, but Clif blinked when not only did he have to prompt “Jensen” to get out since they were at his place, but also when “Jared” moved to exit the vehicle after Dean did.

“Jared? What are you doing?” Clif asked, peering over his shoulder at the two men.

“Uhh...just...going to hang out with D-...um, Jensen for a little while. Y’know. Throw back a few beers, practice our acting. That sort of thing.” Sam offered his best smile, but Clif just shook his head.

“Weird since normally you two can’t stand each other, but whatever. You need me to come pick you up later lemme know.” With a two-fingered salute, Clif pulled away from the curb and left the two men alone.

“Dude, this is too damn weird,” Dean said, watching the taillights of Clif’s SUV head down the street before turning to look at the house that was apparently supposed to be his.

“Tell me about it. This house would fit like ten of Bobby’s house inside it,” Sam said, brow furrowed as he, too, studied the house, but nodded for Dean to follow him as he made his way up to the front door.

It took Dean a couple of minutes to find the right key, but he finally got them both inside and looked around the house with wide eyes. It wasn’t swanky, but it was damn nice, he had to admit. Really nice wooden accents, hard wood floors and black leather furniture, the walls done in pale green colors to balance out the light wood colors.

The main room sported an entertainment center that left Dean salivating with a huge flat screen television, Blu ray player, stereo, a wall of shelves lined with DVDs as well as books. Quite the collection certainly. Dean gave a low whistle, glancing at Sam with a smirk. “Guess this is fake mine too huh? Awesome.”

Sam rolled his eyes, moving toward the laptop he saw on a table nearby while Dean continued looking around the room. He found a cabinet against the back wall that, upon opening the double doors, he found to be stocked with various types of alcohol, including what looked and smelled like a nicely aged scotch.

“Damn. I’ve got good taste,” Dean said to Sam who paused on his way to the laptop when he heard the front door open and close. He looked to Dean worriedly when he heard footsteps in the hallway coming toward the main room.

Dean blinked then closed the cabinet doors before approaching Sam. He got to him just in time for Castiel to enter the room in a dark coat, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

“Hey, baby,” Castiel smiled, looking right at Dean. “I got you flowers.” He held out the bouquet to Dean, who could only stare with wide eyes. Cas’ voice wasn’t the same. It wasn’t deep or husky like it normally was and the smile not to mention the term of endearment paired with flowers was really throwing him off.

“Cas?!” Sam seemed to have no trouble speaking, giving voice to both his own shock and Dean’s.

“Ah, yes, because that never gets old, Jared,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes at Sam. He focused that penetrating blue gaze on Dean once more. “Anyway, how was your day, baby?” He was still holding the flowers out to Dean, waiting for the other man to take them.

“Me?” Dean asked, finally managing to speak at last, though he wasn’t so good at hiding his surprise. He looked at Sam quickly, eyes still wide. “Dude, I married fake Cas!” he said to his brother who could only shake his head in response to Dean.

“Actually, it’s Misha,” Cas said, glancing between the pair of them, brows arched. “You know, just in case you didn’t read the marriage license when you signed it.”

“Misha?” Dean asked incredulously upon hearing the name.

“Yeah. Misha. Me. Your husband.” Misha set the flowers down when Dean showed no sign of taking them, approaching the other man. He lifted a hand, intending to see if “Jensen” was perhaps running a fever. “Baby, are you okay? You’re acting really strangely…”

Dean jerked back on reflex, earning a confused frown from Misha, those blue eyes watching him intently. “Uhhh, yeah! Yeah, I’m good! Uh, sorry...babe...long day on the...y’know, the set. Acting. Kinda tired.”

“All right…” Misha said slowly, but looked toward Jared after a moment. “Well. I’ll just go get started on dinner then. Will you be joining us?”

Sam blinked and looked at Dean, trying to figure out what the best answer would be. “I. Um. I can?”

“Okay. I’ll just go put these in water then.” Misha looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead, he kept quiet and picked up the bouquet, walking down the hall toward where they could only assume was the kitchen.

“Well,” Sam said after a moment, “this got a hell of a lot more complicated than it already was…”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean snorted, shifting his gaze from the corridor to Sam. “What the hell am I supposed to do when it’s time for sleep? He’s probably gonna expect me to sleep next to him and shit.”

“Well. He does think you’re his husband…” Sam pointed out, completely unhelpfully.

“But I’m not! I’m not this Jensen Ackles dude and I’m sure as hell not married to fake Cas!” Dean hissed, irritated.

Sam jumped slightly when his pocket started ringing. He reached in and pulled out a ringing smartphone. “Genevieve? Who the hell…?” He answered the phone, bringing it up to his ear. “Hello?”

Dean could only hear one side of the conversation, but judging by the way Sam’s eyes steadily got wider and wider, it was throwing his little brother for a loop. Starting with his first response after answering the phone.

“Ruby?! What the hell?” He listened, frowning. “Genevieve. Uh...I’m at...Jensen’s. Why? Why does everyone sound surprised about that? My what…? My wife?! Oh! Uh… right. My wife. Yeah, of course...sweetie. Sure I remembered the uh...the dinner tonight. No, of course I didn’t forget. You what? Oh. Right. Um. Okay. Uh...see you in a few minutes then...I guess.”

When Sam hung up the phone, he looked pole-axed. “That was uh...Jared Padalecki’s wife. Genevieve. Who sounds exactly like Ruby. She’s apparently sending Clif back to get me because the Padaleckis are supposed to be going to an important dinner tonight. So uh...looks like you’re on your own with fake Cas or Misha or whatever his name is…”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me? Why the hell would you want to go off with anyone who even remotely sounds like Ruby?!” Dean hissed, trying to keep his voice down so Misha wouldn’t hear.

“I don’t think this world works like ours, Dean. We’ve already established that. If that’s the case, then this Genevieve woman probably isn’t a demon like Ruby. Misha looks just like Cas, but he’s not an angel. And this Clif dude will be there. He’s supposed to be our bodyguard or something right? I think I’ll be okay. If not, I have this Jensen dude’s number programmed in Jared’s cell phone so I’ll call you if I get into trouble,” Sam explained, shrugging.

“I don’t like this. At all,” Dean said, but a knock on the door officially put the debate to an end. He glanced at Sam briefly before going to answer it.

Clif stood on the porch, nodding to Dean then looking past him to Sam. “All set, Jared? Gen wanted me to get you home quick since you gotta get ready for your dinner and all.”

Sam nodded, stuffing the cell phone back in his pocket before walking toward the door. He paused by Dean, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll call if anything comes up.”

Dean could only nod and close the door behind Sam as he left with Clif, leaving him alone in the house with his “husband.” That word was just too damn weird. He’d have to try to go along with it, though, for now.

Sighing, Dean went down the hall toward the kitchen. Time to face the ball and chain.

Misha was standing at the counter chopping up vegetables, wearing a blindingly orange apron that happily exclaimed “Death to Normalcy!” He looked up when Dean entered, smiling. “Hey, Jen. Gonna make some chicken stir-fry tonight.” Misha glanced past Dean toward the doorway, brow arched. “Where’s Jared?”

Dean shifted on his feet, lifting his shoulder in what he hoped passed for a nonchalant shrug. “Had to run. His wife called.”

“Oh, gotcha. I gotta admit, it was weird seeing you two getting along. Normally you can’t stand each other…” Misha chuckled, picking up the chopped vegetables he’d just finished with and putting them into a pan on the stove where they immediately started sizzling.

“Yeah, we’ve heard that a lot today,” Dean muttered.

“Honestly, kinda glad he had to go. I was hoping for a quiet night with you.” Dean was caught off guard by the smile Misha gave him. It was so warm. He’d never seen an expression like that on Castiel’s face.

“We’re both so busy on set usually, it’s hard to find time together like this where we’re not completely exhausted,” Misha said as he turned to stir the contents of the pan on the stove then approached Dean. It took all of the hunter’s willpower to play his part and hold still even though part of him was beginning to be curious about the whole thing.

Misha stopped in front of him, those achingly familiar blue eyes looking steadily into Dean’s as the actor brought his arms up to wind around Dean’s waist and pull him close. “You had me worried earlier,” he continued despite Dean’s silence, lifting a hand to the hunter’s face and trailing his fingertips down Dean’s jaw. He couldn’t hold back the shiver that trailed down his spine, nor the inexplicable warmth that filled him.

This man… he was far too much like Castiel in appearance. The resemblance was perfect and Dean wanted to close his eyes, imagine that this was what it would feel like if the angel touched him, spoke to him in such a way. He’d never wanted to admit to needing this, to wanting it, but it was hard not to when he found himself close to Misha this way.

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmured, unsure if he was apologizing for how he’d worried Misha earlier or because he couldn’t help thinking of Castiel, because he wasn’t Misha’s husband no matter how much he may look like him.

The actor merely shook his head at the apology, that smile lingering on his lips, but then those lips were pressed to Dean’s and his thoughts stuttered to a halt.

Misha’s kiss was much like his personality and Dean found himself lost in it. He’d wondered for so long what those lips felt like, only allowing himself the occasional daydream in which to imagine the sensation. But now he knew and it was with the wrong man. Misha was not Castiel, but Dean couldn’t resist the opportunity that presented itself. God help him, he couldn’t.

He kissed him like he’d never get another chance and for all Dean knew, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t be this way with Castiel. There was too much on their plates and feelings weren’t something Dean Winchester liked to discuss. Ever.

Their lips parted finally, leaving both of them breathless. Misha chuckled, trailing his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Not that I’m complaining, baby, but where’d that come from?”

Dean could offer nothing in the way of a response save a shrug and what he hoped passed for a genuine smile, but thankfully, Misha was distracted by the smell of burning food. With a curse, he moved away from Dean toward the stove to stir the contents of the pan on the burner.

Dinner was a quiet affair and Dean did his best to play along when Misha played footsie with him under the table. It turned out Misha was also a damn good cook, too. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home cooked meal that good.

The really difficult part came after dinner, once everything was cleaned up and put away in the kitchen, leftovers stored in the fridge. By the time all of the after dinner chores were done it was just after ten o’clock and Dean knew they both had to be on set early the following day. That meant going to bed. Together. Since they were married. Awkward.

It was made even worse when Misha took his hand and pulled him from the kitchen after everything was put away, guiding him down the long hallway and into what Dean discovered was the bedroom. The door to which had barely clicked shut before Dean found himself pressed back against it, those softly chapped lips pressed heatedly to his own once more.

A groan left him before he could remember to hold it back, but the damage had already been done. He felt Misha’s lips curl against his as the dark-haired man shifted slightly to press his thigh between Dean’s, providing glorious friction where his dick was beginning to take an interest in the goings-on.

But hell no he wasn’t going to be a bottom. So Misha soon found the tables turned and his own back pressed to the door instead, but Dean paused abruptly before he could bring his mouth to the actor’s, panting heavily as his mind finally got enough blood circulating to it to remind him of exactly why this was such a bad idea. This man was not Castiel. And he was not Jensen Ackles. Going any further wouldn’t be fair to either of them. No matter how much Dean wanted Castiel, this was Misha. It didn’t matter that Misha looked exactly like Castiel and vice versa. His mind and his heart knew the difference.

Dean shook his head and stepped back. “I can’t,” he sighed, turning away to pace slightly and lifting a hand to rub at his eyes with his fingertips.

“Wait...what?” Misha blinked, lips lightly swollen from their kisses, skin flushed and pupils dilated. “Jen?”

Dean hissed and made a halting motion with his hand to get Misha to be quiet. “I’m not-,” he began, but faltered, turning to face the other man once more before trying to speak again. “I’m not Jensen.”

Misha gave a huff, part disbelief and confusion, part laughter, one corner of his mouth quirked upward slightly. “What? Are you into roleplay now or something? Who are you supposed to be then?”

“Damnit, I’m not Jensen. I’m Dean. You know. Dean Winchester.” His irritation with not only the situation but the fact that he likely wouldn’t be able to get Misha to believe him was rising and Dean stood in front of the actor, lifting his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I know it sounds crazy. Believe me, I get it. But I’m not your husband.”

Misha smirked briefly before smoothing out his features into an impassive expression that was achingly familiar. When he spoke, his voice was lower and, suddenly, it was Castiel standing before him, clad in a blue button down and slacks. “Hello, Dean.”

The glare he sent Misha’s way had the other man faltering. “No. Don’t even pull that shit. It’s not funny.”

“All right, seriously, Jensen, what’s really the problem? And don’t try to feed me this bullshit that you’re Dean. Just tell me what’s wrong. I don’t even know why you’d lie to me in the first place. It’s not necessary, Jen.” Misha crossed his arms over his torso. Those blue eyes were glinting at him with the first stirrings of anger, but he still gave Dean a chance to explain himself.

“I’ve already told you. I get that it’s a hard pill to swallow, man, but it’s the truth. I’m not this Jensen dude. I’m not your husband. I’m Dean Winchester, just like I said. You know. Saving people. Hunting things. That’s me. That’s who I am. I’m not Jensen Ackles.” Dean shook his head, sighing to himself when Misha’s anger seemed to be replaced with concern instead.

“All right. I have to be honest here, Jen...Dean… I… You’re scaring me, all right? What’s going on with you? You’re not a fictional character, Jensen. And now you’re spending time with Jared and suddenly saying you’re Dean Winchester when you were fine this morning. What happened today? Did you hit your head or something on set?” Misha approached him once more as he spoke, the actor’s hands lifting. He reached for Dean’s hand with his right, the left moving to Dean’s cheek. Those dark blue eyes were so worried that Dean found it difficult not to just throw in the towel and pretend to be his alter ego for a few hours. Anything to make that look go away.

He couldn’t though. And he knew it. Dean had no idea how long they’d be stuck in this universe and it was damned difficult to pretend to be someone he didn’t even know. Not to mention to go along with a relationship he wasn’t apart of with someone who looked exactly like the person he truly cared for and had no idea when, if ever, he’d see him again.

Dean lifted his hands, gently closing the fingers of each of them around Misha’s wrists, moving the actor’s hands away from him. “I’m not Jensen. I really am sorry. But I’m not your husband. I don’t know where he is or what happened to him, but I hope once I get back to my own world that you’ll get him back.”

If anything, Dean’s words only served to make Misha more upset, brow furrowed as he looked at Dean with that fear and concern lingering. “Your world? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Balthazar sent us here to escape Raphael. Me and Sam. He pushed us through a window at Bobby’s after he drew some symbol on it and we ended up on the set earlier today. I have no idea what happened to Jensen and Jared. Like I said, I hope they come back once we leave, but I don’t know if they will or not.” Dean let go of Misha’s wrists then stepped past him toward the door to open it.

“You can’t be serious,” he heard Misha say behind him as he grasped the doorknob and turned, pulling the door open. He glanced back over his shoulder to look at the other man.

“I wish I wasn’t.” Dean paused in the hallway, turning to look back into the bedroom. “I’m sorry, Misha. It’s probably best that I get out of here.”

Dean turned to walk down the hall. He didn’t stop when he heard Misha’s footsteps behind him, rushing to catch up.

“What? Where the hell are you going?” he heard, but continued on his way to the front door, checking his pocket to make sure Jensen’s cell phone was there. He could use it to call Sam once he left the house.

“To find Sam,” Dean said, then pulled open the front door and walked outside. That Clif guy was supposed to drive them places. He could give him a call.

He did so as he stood on the sidewalk, seeing Misha standing on the lawn behind him from the corner of his eye. It was cold and Misha was outside barefoot with no coat. Dean sighed after hanging up with Clif and looked back to where the actor stood, watching him.

“It’s freezing out here. Go back inside, Misha,” he said, stuffing the phone back into his pocket.

“Like hell I will. Only way I’m going back in is if you’re coming with me.” Dean could see the stubborn gleam in those blue eyes even from the sidewalk. So familiar. Glimpses of Castiel that haunted him, but he couldn’t let them. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of the bigger picture and in the process lose himself in fantasy.

“I’m not going back. I don’t belong here. Jensen does. And you deserve more than an imposter.” He hadn’t known Misha long at all, but Dean was certain of that fact. Misha deserved to have his husband there with him. Not Dean. Dean just wanted to go home.

“Why are you doing this?” It was a simple question Misha posed, but it broke Dean’s heart all the same to hear it.

“I’m not. I didn’t do this. The angels did. I wish I could find a way to get you to believe me, but I don’t expect you to. But I can tell you that I’ll do everything I can to make sure you get Jensen back.” He heard the sound of a vehicle approaching on the quiet street and glanced over to see Clif approaching.

“Jensen. Stop. Just stop. This is insane. Just come back inside with me and we can deal with this. We’ll figure out whatever the problem is together. Please…” Misha took a step forward on the cold ground as Clif pulled up to the curb, but Dean shook his head and got into the car.

“I’m sorry, Misha,” he said and he truly meant it. He motioned for Clif to start driving despite Misha’s protests that faded in the background the farther away from the house they went.

“Everything okay, Jensen?” Clif asked, sparing his passenger a brief glance before redirecting his attention to the road.

“Just fucking peachy,” Dean muttered, then directed Clif to drive him back to the set. Might as well spend more time in Jensen’s trailer.

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

The next day was less than fun for the Winchesters. Having Virgil make a surprise appearance was anything but ideal. It worked out in their favor that there was nothing supernatural about the world they found themselves in. At least where an angelic assassin was concerned. It put Virgil right at their level and made him easier to deal with. Even if the crew had stopped them from dealing with Virgil so the angel got away.

Sam and Dean had decided to go to Jared’s and figure out what their next step would be. 

Sam entered the house before Dean did. “Maybe if we get inside the police dispatch system…”

“We can put out an APB on Virgil,” Dean said, finishing Sam’s thought as he closed the door behind them. “Might work if he stays obvious.”

“It’s not like we have a lot of time,” Sam said, walking further with Dean into the house. 

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” came Genevieve’s voice to their right, both men turning to look at her quickly.

“What?” Sam asked, eyes wide.

Genevieve was standing further down the hallway, sobbing, her mascara running because of her tears. “Misha! He’s been stabbed to death!”

“Where?!” He and Sam inquired at the same time, though Dean’s reaction to the news was layered. Virgil had appeared on their radar again, but at a cost Dean hadn’t realized he wasn’t willing to pay. Misha hadn’t deserved such a fate. Sure the guy could be a bit of a dick and was obsessed with his Twitter account, but he’d truly loved his husband. Dean saw it easily with the way Misha had looked at him the night before, believing him to be Jensen. 

“Where?” Genevieve asked incredulously, her face still damp from her tears.

It didn’t take much to get the information out of Jared’s wife and the ride to the crime scene was filled by a tense silence. Dean couldn’t get Misha’s face out of his mind. So much like Cas’, but with so much more emotion. How he’d smiled at Dean and treated him like he was everything. And now he was dead. Because he’d unwittingly gotten mixed up with the Winchesters. Wasn’t that how it always turned out?

Dean pushed his bitterness aside when they arrived at the scene. He saw Misha’s car along with quite a few police cars, their lights flashing in the dark night at the mouth of an alleyway. There was yellow police tape around the perimeter as well.

Dean said nothing at first, walking with Sam into the alley. Not far in they saw a body lying on the ground covered with a white sheet. Blood stained the sheet crimson where it rested over Misha’s neck. His throat had been slashed. Dean clenched his fists, his jaw, but gradually, a voice at the other end of the alley registered and he jerked his gaze away from Misha’s body toward the person speaking.

“Yeah. Yeah, Raphael. Like the Ninja Turtle. He was calling someone name of Raphael, up in Heaven. Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. The-. The scary man killed the attractie crying man, and then he started to pray. And the strange part… After a while, I s-swear I heard this voice, answering.” It was a homeless man by the look of him and as he spoke, Sam and Dean approached and he ended up speaking directly to the Winchesters.

“What did it say?” Sam asked, brow arched.

“Well, it didn’t make any sense,” the vagrant said.

“Try us,” said Dean, focusing anywhere but on that bloodstained sheet a few feet away. Anywhere but on the body that rested beneath that sheet on the dirty, damp ground.

“The voice said… For Virgil to return tomorrow, at the place where he crossed over, at the time of the crossing. And Raphael would reach through the window and take him and the key home,” the man recited, shifting nervously on his feet.

Sam and Dean shared a look before Dean reached into his pocket. “Uh, okay. Hey, thank you.” He pulled out a random bill and offered it to the guy who took it with a short nod then wandered off.

“Dean, if Virgil gets back with that key, Cas is dead and our world is toast,” Sam said once they were alone again.

“Well, then we stop him.” Like hell would Dean let anything happen to Cas. Not if he could do anything to stop it. 

Stopping Virgil was as easy as lingering on the production lot to see when the angel would make his move. It was too bad that they’d only managed to stop him after he ganked quite a few of the crew including the show’s creator and one of the producers, but suddenly, they’d found themselves flying through yet another window and face to face with a black woman clad in a suit.

“You two…” she said as she approached across the motel parking lot they’d landed in, “have the strangest luck.”

“Raphael?” Dean asked, every inch of the hunter on high alert as the woman stopped in front of them. “Nice meatsuit.”

He spoke to Sam, keeping his gaze focused on the archangel. “Dude looks like a lady.”

One upward sweep of Raphael’s hand had both Winchesters doubling over in pain. 

“The key,” she said as Sam and Dean crumpled to the ground. When she saw it, she leaned down to scoop it up. 

“And that will open you a locker at the Albany bus station,” said Balthazar, suddenly appearing to Raphael’s left.

“Really,” Raphael said, her focus shifting to the other angel, leaving the boys free to get to their feet.

“You see, I needed a modest decoy to make it more convincing,” Balthazar continued, his demeanor casual as always.

“Give me the weapons.” Judging by Raphael’s tone, it was not a request.

“Sorry, darling. They’re gone.”

“What?!” Raphael’s eyes narrowed as her gaze lingered on Balthazar.

“I said, too bloody late. You see, they were so well hidden that I needed time to find them. So, I volunteered these two marmosets for a game of fetch with Virgil,” he explained to Raphael, then turned his attention to Sam and Dean. “You two were such an adequate stick. Thank you. Thank you, boys.”

“You’ve made your last mistake,” Raphael told Balthazar.

“Oh, I’ve got a few more up my sleeve, honey.” The term of endearment was dripping with sarcasm.

It was as Raphael was approaching Balthazar that Dean heard a flutter of wings followed by a voice he’d missed. “Step away from him, Raphael.”

“I have the weapons now. Their power is with me,” Castiel said when he had Raphael’s attention.

Thunder crashed, the lightning that accompanied it casting shadows. Once again, Dean found himself looking at the shadows of Castiel’s massive wings, his eyes widening at the sight.

“Castiel,” Raphael said, eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded her opponent. 

“If you don’t want to die tonight, back off.” Castiel walked toward the archangel, footsteps sounding on the pavement. 

Raphael left without another word.

“Well, Cas. Now that you have your sword, try not to die by it.” The words were Balthazar’s farewell before he, too, disappeared.

Castiel then wasted no time in approaching the Winchesters, placing a hand on each of their shoulders and transporting them back to Bobby’s.

“Cas, what the hell?” Sam asked as the thunder could be heard through the broken window. “Wait, you were in on this? Using us as a diversion?”

Cas had turned away from them while Sam spoke and the rain poured outside.

“It was Balthazar’s plan,” the angel said. “I would have done the same thing.”

The more Dean heard, the more he felt his anger building. “That’s not comforting, Cas,” he said, speaking up for the first time since being confronted by Raphael.

“When will I be able to make you understand?” Castiel asked, turning to face the boys. “If I lose against Raphael, we all lose. Everything.”

“Yeah, Cas, we know the stakes. That’s about all you’ve told us!” Dean glared at the angel, anger disguising the hurt he felt beneath the surface.

“I’m sorry about all this. I’ll explain when I can,” Castiel said, and then he was gone, leaving Sam and Dean alone in Bobby’s den.

“Friggin’ angels.”

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

The storm finally cleared in the early hours of the morning, just before dawn.

Dean had spent most of the night covering the hole in Bobby’s wall and explaining to the old hunter just what had happened to them while he’d been in town on his supply run. Yet after Bobby and Sam both had retired for the night, Dean found he couldn’t sleep. His thoughts lingered on Castiel and the fact that the angel had basically used him and his brother as bait.

Yet, they also lingered on Misha. He couldn’t say why exactly the man was taking up so much of his thoughts. Perhaps because of his resemblance to Castiel. But Dean knew he couldn’t kid himself into thinking that was the only reason. He still firmly believed that Misha hadn’t deserved what happened to him. He and Sam hadn’t deserved to be used as bait in an angelic civil war either.

He shook his head, sighing as he rolled over on the pallet he’d made on the floor in Bobby’s den, listening to the nocturnal insects outside. No, sleep would not come easily for Dean Winchester this night. Not until he managed to find some sort of peace of mind if that was even possible.

Rising from the pallet, Dean quietly made his way out of the den so as not to wake his brother, heading for the door. As softly as possible, Dean opened and shut the door behind him, stepping out into the yard and seeing the barest glimpse of light on the horizon as the sunrise approached.

He walked a ways out into the junkyard, crossing his arms over his chest and stopping when he felt he was a decent distance from the house. Far enough away that he wouldn’t be overheard should anyone inside wake up.

Dean lifted his gaze to the sky, those green eyes scanning over the expanse of stars that were beginning to fade the closer it came to daylight. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

“Cas, you there? Listen, I know you got your hands full, but I need you to come down here. Please.” The prayer wasn’t as brusque as his prayers to Castiel normally were and afterward, Dean fell silent, listening for the familiar sound of Cas’ wings that usually heralded the angel’s arrival.

He didn’t have to wait long. Just a few seconds later he heard it and the burden on his heart eased a bit.

“Hello, Dean,” the hunter heard even as he was turning to face the angel.

Castiel stood just a few steps away from him on the gravel drive, head tilting slightly as he regarded the elder Winchester. Dean shifted to lower his arms and stuff his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I need you to do something for me,” Dean said without preamble, watching as Castiel’s eyes narrowed slightly and his head tilted further in that curious way of his.

“You called me down to demand something? When I’m in the middle of a war?” the angel inquired, dark brow arching as he watched Dean.

“Yeah, well, you used me as bait without my permission. Time to accept the consequences for your actions I guess,” Dean said, but continued before Castiel could offer a response. “That world you sent us to… how difficult would it be for you to go there?”

“Not very.” Castiel’s confusion showed on his features at the question.

“Good. I need you to go there.” 

“Why?” the angel asked, appearing to not understand what Dean wanted of him at all.

“Because you need to go clean up the mess you made. Virgil killed a man while we were there. A man that didn’t deserve to die. The only reasons he died were because he was involved with me and Sam and because he looked exactly like you. His name was Misha Collins. I want you to go there and bring him back, put everything in his world back the way it was before you and Balthazar dropped us into that world headfirst with no helmets.” Dean knew it was a lot to ask, but it was only fair. The angels had meddled where they shouldn’t have.

“Dean. Have you forgotten there was nothing supernatural about that world? If I went there, I’d be just as human as you are. I wouldn’t be able to bring Misha back,” Castiel began, but paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“What? What is it?” Dean didn’t let his disappointment take over, watching Castiel intently.

“But here…” Castiel continued, those deep blue eyes watching Dean, but not really seeing as he considered his options. “I can have Balthazar help me venture to that world, retrieve Misha’s body, then bring him here to resurrect him. Once that’s done I could return him to his own universe.”

“And his memories? He spent his last hours thinking his husband had gone insane probably because of all the shit that happened.” 

Castiel shook his head as if that was something easily taken care of. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll alter his memories accordingly as well as his husband’s.”

“Be easy for you to find Jensen then. He looks exactly like me,” Dean pointed out, watching the angel carefully to see his reaction to this.

Castiel had been glancing off toward his left, gaze idly scanning the junker cars around them as he mentally planned out the next few hours, but upon hearing what Dean had to say about Jensen Ackles, his attention found the hunter once more.

“He looks like you? And...you said Misha Collins resembles me?” he asked, something there in his voice that Dean couldn’t quite figure out, but he had his suspicions.

“Yeah. They could be our twins,” Dean said, not failing to notice the way Castiel winced slightly when he heard Dean’s response.

“And they’re married?” 

“Yeah, Cas. They’re married. And Jensen probably came back to find out his husband had his throat cut while I was walking around in his place.” Dean shook his head. “Go fix it. You and I will talk once you’re done.”

Castiel watched him for a long moment, looking as if there was something on his mind that the angel very much wanted to discuss with the hunter but wasn't sure of how best to address it. 

Dean closed the distance between them then, bringing his hands up to grasp the angel's shoulders. Castiel's eyes widened when the human leaned in and brushed a light kiss to his lips. A promise.

"We'll talk when you're done," he murmured. "Go fix Misha and Jensen first. You know where to find me."

Dean stepped back then, feeling the angel's gaze on him steadily until Castiel vanished. 

The hunter lingered there under the fading stars for a few minutes, looking up at the vast expanse of the sky. His mind was on his angel, but also two men who shared their faces and loved each other enough to spend their lives together. He hoped they could live out the rest of their lives undisturbed by the things that went bump in the night. 

As for the hunter and his angel, they had much to discuss. But Dean also found himself hoping for some measure of peace for them as well.

With that thought in mind, Dean Winchester turned to go back into Bobby’s and wait for Castiel’s return.

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

Jensen looked up from his spot on the soft leather of his sofa, setting the remote to the television down as the front door opened. He grinned widely.

Misha entered, clad in his coat with a bouquet of flowers in hand. The blue-eyed man smiled upon seeing his husband rise from the sofa to greet him.

“Hey, baby. I got you flowers.” Misha held out the flowers to Jensen, but the sandy-haired man seemed content to ignore them in favor of kissing his husband hello. It was far more passionate and intense than their usual greetings were and it left Misha weak-kneed, gripping onto Jensen with his free hand for support. 

“What was that for?” he asked, breathless as he looked at Jensen curiously. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“I don’t know. I just… I’m really glad to see you, Mish.” Jensen shook his head, a sheepish smile on his lips and a hint of that Texan drawl Misha loved so much seeping into his voice.

The actor chuckled at his husband, stealing another soft kiss. “I’m glad to see you, too, babe. Gonna make chicken stir fry for dinner. Why don’t you go put these in water.” He offered the flowers once more to Jensen.

“Sounds great. I’ll give you a hand.” But Jensen first pulled Misha to him in a tight embrace that earned a laugh from the dark-haired man who nevertheless returned it.

“All right, all right, Jen. We’ll do that more after dinner and watch a movie if you want. I’m starving though.” Misha stepped back, giving Jensen a wink before turning to head into the kitchen once he’d shed his coat.

Jensen watched him go, unable to explain where the intense feelings of relief and gratitude came from for the fact that Misha was there, safe and sound and his.

“You coming, baby?” he heard Misha call from the kitchen a couple of minutes later.

“Yep! In a sec!” Jensen called back, voice slightly raised, but after a moment he lowered his head as well as his voice and whispered a quiet “Thank you” though to whom he had no idea.

It didn’t matter who heard him. There was just so much to be grateful for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed my story! If you did, please consider buying me a ko-fi? My family and I could really use the help.
> 
> ko-fi.com/AislinMarue


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